It says much for the universal respect for the late Sir Donald Bradman that only 15 minutes after the Auckland and Canterbury players heard of the great batsman's death yesterday they arranged their own tribute before starting the last day of their Shell Trophy match at Eden Park Outer Oval this morning.

Players and umpires took their positions on the field, doffed caps and hats, and stood head bowed for several seconds.

And there may be a dozen or so Aucklanders in their 40's and 50's who might stop and remember the day they met Sir Donald, on their own patch.

Sir Donald and Lady Bradman were relaxing at their Auckland hotel after a speaking engagement in the early 70's. I had taped an interview with Sir Donald when he said: "I have helped you, now how about you take me out to watch some cricket?"

The Bradmans were at the White Heron hotel in Parnell. Cornwall Park seemed the obvious and picturesque cricket-watching venue, and the route took my car past the youngsters' cricket ground at Bloodworth Park, tucked on the border of Parnell, Remuera and the Hobson Bay mangroves.

As we passed the ground Sir Donald asked me to stop - "this looks marvellous, I would like to sit here a while."

We had been sitting for perhaps a minute, Sir Donald's passenger door fixed open, when an amazing thing happened. As if to a signal, three youngsters' games stopped. Fifty or 60 fresh young faces were focussed on the great man.

Then they flooded across the ground and gathered around the car, no shoving and pushing for the front row, simply their eyes wide in wonder.

A vast smile came over the knightly face. And was there a slight lump in the Bradman throat, a glisten in the corner of the eye, when he said: "Thanks, lads, for coming to say 'hello.' Good luck with your cricket, but we have to go now."

At Cornwall Park the older players paid due respect, and Duncan Johnstone had his bat autographed and probably still has it mounted over his Sunday Star-Times sports editor's desk.

But those of us lucky enough to be there will never forget a cricketer so relishing his mixing with other cricketers.

Sir Donald was a private person, not given to newspaper or radio interviews when he sat in the seats of Australian cricket power.

The first time I met him was with the 1967 New Zealand touring team in Adelaide and, on my first overseas tour, regarded Sir Donald as the logical interview target.

So I went through the appropriate channels, the word came back Sir Donald was available for 20 minutes two days' hence, and I duly set off for the interview - much to the amazement of a dozen or so local cricket writers, very few had ever considered that the walls built round Sir Donald were scaleable.

Sir Donald was then chairman of the Australian Cricket Board and the Australian selection panel. He listed the topics open for discussion. It was a tidy interview, nothing really earth-shattering, but Sir Donald did hit one or two replies about Australia-New Zealand playing relations off the middle of his bat.

A few days later came another face of Bradman as the New Zealanders were moving from a one-dayer in the Barossa to the Adelaide railway station long before it became a casino and onward to Melbourne and Victoria Country matches.

Not surprisingly the New Zealanders came away from Angaston clutching bottles and cases of Yalumba's finest. Moving the players, luggage and cases of the good stuff from car to train under heavy time pressure required an intensive manpower effort.

And who should lead the way across the station concourse, his short legs whisking along under the big crate, his chirpy face peering over the box-top but Sir Donald himself?

More recently at Adelaide I again sought an interview with Sir Donald. The time was fixed, the venue of the Members' Room arranged, and when I arrived the important people were having a pre-lunch gin.

No Bradman there. Instead he was sitting out in the viewing room, watching the game, awaiting my visit. By himself. We had a pleasant chat for perhaps 25 minutes. He seemed more relaxed. The smiles were more frequent, warmer.

The armour-plated wall around him was being dismantled. He still received hundreds upon hundreds of letters and invitations and requests for autographs, and people helped him handle the flood.

He consented to some very fine television interviews, some quite candid newspaper and radio comments, and lamented only that he could not pursue his great love of playing golf.

The final flourish came, I am told, when his son John - who had dropped the family name as a young man embarrassed by the paternal fame - decided to claim back the Bradman surname.

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